Poem: après moi, le déluge / by Camille McGriff

I wrote this poem for my Fall 2019 creative writing class, and it went on to win the First Year Writing Prize and the Alice Brandt Deeds ‘45 Creative Writing Prize.

après moi, le déluge.

His aqueous orbit is mesmerizing.

Floating up to the surface then

Submerging again.

Spines prickling

Snout twitching

Tail swishing.

In the black water of the swimming pool, he is

Hungry. He means

Business.

I am frozen, stricken as I see him 

Through shredded palmettos.

I have a choice.

Days ago

In the flashlight glow

I took a sharpie and wrote 

Three numbers dash

Two numbers dash

Four numbers

Across my collarbone.

Identification. Shoulder to

Shoulder I am a number. Then

10/29/79 across my

Stomach. A

Sequence.

Neither of us know

How we ended up 

Here, in the

Desecrated sacristy of a 

Swimming pool, and 

sitting Indian style on the 

Jagged concrete altar at its edge.

Alone. Pondering death.

I watched 

The rain

First hit

Softly 

Against the

Window.

I watched

The lights

Flicker.

if you stay, write your social security 

number on your chest,

so we can identify your body.

I was not a bloated cadaver

Floating down the

Road. I only crouched

On the roof 

On the third day of rain, 

Kicking away the

Water’s edge.

In the end it didn’t matter.

What didn’t wash away was

Looted.

How can you prove what you own?

Keep from restless drifting, like 

Tangled ribbons of fire ants

Swarming in the surge?

Eye to reptilian eye.

We were never supposed to be here.

He doesn’t belong here. Now, neither

do I.

I swing my feet in.

A tail smacks the water.

I taste snot on my lip.

Neck deep in black water.

Cicadas and frogs sing in the beating sun.

Not a soul around.

We lock eyes 

And I

Brace.